Give Me Hope
by Horribly Horny Harry
Summary: After the war Harry runs from the ruins of his Wizarding World life in turn for a muggle one. But England is only so big as Harry runs into Snape. HP/SS.


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JKR does. I also don't make any money off this fanfic that I'm writing and you're reading.

~*~

Give Me Hope

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Life should be great for Harry Potter. He has defeated Voldemort in The Battle of Hogwarts. Although it was a victory, it was one that came at such great prices . . .

After Voldemort's spell rebounded off Harry's, brief praise and relief was passed throughout the Hall. Family and friends hugged in love. Strangers patted stranger's backs in happiness and thanks at the well fought battle.

The initial glee was subdued after the bodies lacing Hogwart's front lawn were brought in to either be healed or given to the families to morn over.

Harry raced around trying to find his friends to congratulate them on a war well won. After all, they Harry couldn't have done it without them. They're his driving force; Hermione's brains and Ron bravery had kept Harry alive through all their Hogwarts days.

It was when Harry was specifically not looking at the spot where he knew Remus and Tonks' bodies were lain earlier that he noticed by the far wall a body that looked familiar to the extent that he was dreading walking over to it. The pain in his chest grew until he had no choice but to walk over and confirm that it wasn't who he thought it was. On closer look there wasn't a doubt in his mind that the blood splattered face was that of his best friend's.

Horror griped at Harry's muscles as he automatically turned away from Ron's body, but found his eyes landing on the lifeless eyes of Mrs. Weasley. His mind was going numb as he kept spotting more and more people who had defined his life. Down the hall Seamus' body lays . . . Lavender, Cho, Bill. Hermione's twisted limbed body was his last straw as he bolted out of the room with his eyes only on the ground before him.

~*~

Harry is on his third beer of the night when a man sits down next to him at the bar and orders a beer. The man, Harry notes out of the corner of his eye, has sandy blonde hair that reaches his ears, bright brown eyes, and a sharp jaw . . . he's handsome.

Harry looks away when he finds himself being checked out by the same man. Harry's suspicions are confirmed when the blonde looks over Harry's muscular body. . . a body that looks great in the tight blue jeans and black tee that was carefully picked earlier to accentuate Harry's assets. He takes in Harry's green tipped, light brown locks and smoky gray eyes. Harry sees the man smirk into his beer and takes a sip. Harry does the same because they are now both thinking the same thing; they're going to get lucky tonight.

Looking forward but paying attention to the man, Harry watches as he takes one more swig and with a burst of confidence straitens his posture. The man turns to Harry. To make it easier on the man Harry looks over and smiles an inviting grin.

Harry watches the man lick his lips and ask, "So, what are you in for tonight?" The man is watching Harry's reactions intently, trying to read what Harry's about. Harry it too tired to even toy with the man tonight and gets rather to the point.

Leaning back in his chair and casually spreads his legs, Harry answers, "I'm out for some action, you?" The bartender walks by and rolls her eyes at the obvious display.

The man's eyes light up as Harry brushes his thumb over his lips with a secret kiss; like he's wiping something off, indicating that he is gay. The man signals back and says, "Originally I was just out for a drink but it seems I've found something better to _do._" Harry inwardly cringes at the lame come-on line, not that his own actions have been much better. "I'm Neal."

"Shawn," Harry greats back and they smile to each other.

"So, Shawn, would you like to dance?" Neal asks while Harry translates what Neal is really saying: would you like some foreplay?

The dance floor is dark and crowded with frantic twenty year olds, and the stray illegal teen. The two men wouldn't really be noticed in that mess and if they dance close enough they won't be harassed. There are some couples of girls grinding out there and they're not being troubled because men like gay girls, but for some idiotic reason men find gay men dancing together to be offensive and dirty.

Neal sees Harry's contemplating looks towards the dancers and reassures, "Don't worry, I'll keep you save and _close_."

Harry can't help but nod figuring that if they do get hassled then at least there are bouncers there to defuse any problems. Harry avoids college parties for lack of security; he learned that tip the hard way. He would have been at a gay club except he doesn't yet know where one is in this new town yet. Perhaps Neal will know of one, Harry makes a note to ask him tomorrow morning.

Harry stands and Neal follows. Because Harry is shorter he'll be playing the girl; Harry usually follows and it's mainly to do with his height. Neal pulls him close as they weave into the dancers, picking up the beat of the music. Harry wraps his arms around Neal's neck, Neal's hands on Harry's hips, as the rock their bodies together. Like most of the other couples dancing, they were holding each other close and basically humping in time to the music.

The hard body rubbing against Harry was such a turn on that he was hard in a matter of minutes. Harry ran his hands down Neal's chest and back up again, bring the shirt up to reveal taunt muscles and a dusting of dark hair on tanned skin. Neal found Harry's ass to be a wonderful hold to further the grinding of their erections.

All too soon, Harry feels eyes straying to them and not long after a few glares are spotted by Neal. They continue to dry hump as Neal asks in a whisper to Harry's ear, "Your place or mine?"

Harry moans at a particular hard thrust on Neal's part. "Yours," is all the answer Neal needs to hurry them off the floor and out the door.

"I only live a few blocks from here," Neal says as they hurry through the busy night life of Hastings, England. Harry sees the man in front of him swiveling his hips every ten steps or so and figures that he's so aroused that walking is giving him pleasurable friction. It's an arousing idea for Harry, which is not what he needs right now in front of all these people. Neal has on a long enough shirt to hide his bulge for the most part but Harry's is short cut and he tries to keep close to the man before him, hoping no one looks too closely.

Soon, Neal drags Harry off the street and into a doorway to a building of flats. A code in typed in and the door buzzes them in. Neal pulls Harry into the lift and presses the highest number, ten. Harry finds himself up against the wall with lips attached to his own and he moans. Harry gets his leg wrapped over Neal's hip and there is frantic thrusting and hands under shirts.

They are lucky the elevator doesn't stop to pick anyone else up. When it beeps floor ten and the doors roll open, they are forced to stop. Harry puts both feet on the ground and Neal pulls his hands out from the back of Harry's pants where he's massaging the plump ass there.

Both hurry down the hall and they stop only to open the door to Neal flat. As soon as the door is lock again, they are going at it with abandonment. Harry drops Neal's pants while shoes are kicked off and socks quickly gotten out of the way.

Neal is leading them through the dark room while staying connected by the lips and rutting groins, over to a large bed where they fall. The rest of their clothes are shed, both are prepared, and Harry slips a condom on Neal's cock. Neal is now thrusting his member into Harry's loosed hole.

Their grunts and gasps fill the air as the bed rocks to the beat of their hips.

"Oh, God, Shawn! Ahh . . . you're so perfect," Neal moans out.

All Harry can do is arch and give gasping screams as his prostate is hammered.

"That's it, baby! Uhh, come on, scream my name!" Neal grunts at Harry.

"Harder," Harry commands, oblivious to the man above him.

Neal continues to work Harry, the bed creaking in time to the thrusts. Neal has the name Shawn on his lips as he comes. Neal finishes with short, rough jabs as Harry grabs his own dick to bring himself over the edge, grunting while he does so.

They collapse in an exhausted pile of sweat and semen. When their breathing is back on track, Neal rolls off Harry's sated body, stretches over to a chair next to the bed and grabs a towel laying there. The blue towel is dropped on Harry's muscled chest. Harry wipes away the mess there and tosses the soiled rag over the side of the bed. After fussing with the sheets, Harry settles for a peaceful night's sleep.

~*~

Harry wakes to a shifting bed, he figures Neal is rolling over and thinks nothing of it. But then a loud snoring erupts in Harry's ear that makes him sit up in shock. When his breathing returns and his heart is done sounding in his ears, Harry crawls out of Neal's bed

The alarm clock next to him reads five a.m. while Harry grabs his clothes and sneaks into the bathroom across the hall.

Harry takes his first real shower in three days, savoring the warm spray relaxing his muscles and the shampoo cleaning his hair with its bubbly cleanliness. Sighing after he's done with cleaning himself, Harry then just spends time enjoying the feeling of being warm and clean.

Once the water starts to get cold, Harry dresses and heads for the kitchen. The clock there shows that it's now ten to six. He realizes he should hurry if he doesn't want to deal with the sleeping man that gave him some sex and a place to stay the night.

Harry continues to abuse Neal's trust by treating himself to whatever's in the fridge. However, it seems Neal isn't one for eating in; even the cupboards are bare. The only box of cereal had a big black bug sitting in there. It's the sight of the bug that has Harry looking around the flat for the first time, really looking.

There are clothes all over the places, not just from last night either. The tan couch is stained and has a big slash through one of the cushions that was poorly stitched back up by someone who had to have been drunk. There are a few pizza boxes in the corner opposite the corner that had a hole in the wall with a rat peaking out. Okay, Harry emagined the rat but chances are there really are rats using that hole as a door. Needless to say, it was rather revolting.

All Harry can do is sigh while trying not to think about the state of the bed he has just slept in. Something he's never been able to get use to is people being untidy. It's one thing if you're poor and can't own nice things compared to the laziness of not keeping your things nice. Like how Harry has been wearing the same four sets of clothes for the last seven months. They look worn in and faded, but in a stylish way rather than like the rags you find hobos wearing. Harry takes care of the few belongings he has.

Thinking of which, he'd better go get his bag before a dump truck decides to do some early pick-ups. Harry figures he had better go do that and try not to dwell on his empty stomach. At least he had a safe enough place to stay the night.

He is about to step over a pair of pants when he sees the lump in the back pocket; cha-ching rings in Harry's head as he pulls the wallet out and checks out its contents. Damn, Harry thinks, there's got to be five hundred in here! Harry figures the man he slept with last night wasn't at the bar just for a beer as he said. He had to have been looking for an easy lay, like Harry, and if that didn't go well then he would have picked up a cheap whore. With that much money pocketed, you know that's what he was up to. No one drinks that much worth of booze.

I guess luck is on my side this morning, is Harry's thought as he pulls all the cash out and tucks the wad in his own pocket. His stomach grumbles as he thinks of what he's going to get first with the cash.

Harry hits the pavement with a skip in his step. He finds his way back to last nights bar easily enough; good thing Neal lives so close. If Neal had said he lives a distance away or gotten in a car, Harry would have gone and grabbed his bag first for fear of having to walk back to get it. The first time this happened he left his bag and the man he picked up lived a good half hour away, in a different town; Harry was desperate and broke, so he 'borrowed' the man's car just to retrieve his bag and then ditched the ride right there in the alley and fled the town.

He hasn't always just had one night-stands. There have been six really great boyfriends. None of them know that he is a drifter. As soon as he felt that their relationship had run its course, he left. So, for the last five years he's traveled all over England, with the exception of London and Surry. He figures he's been there and done that.

Coming up to the ally where he stowed his bag, he looks around to make sure he isn't being watched to closely and blends himself right into the shadows. Another thing Harry has learned is that alleyways are dangerous and caution will keep you alive and undamaged. He approaches the dumpster and again checks that no one's there to jump him. He gets on his hands and knees and swipes his arm under quickly to grab the bag.

With the brown leather bag over his shoulder, Harry walks a few blocks to a seaside breakfast house. Food, food, food, is all Harry can think about now that he's got everything else settled.

The smell of food makes his stomach grumble for the hundredth time this morning. An old man with an off color toupee seats Harry at a small table and is handed a menu with all the food pictured next to its label. Harry licks his lips as his eyes dance across the menu while the waiter gets him some water.

Soon Harry is tucked in with a plate of hot sausages, a stack of pancakes with strawberries and whip cream topping, and a hot cup of English black tea. The breakfast rush is setting in as Harry digs in. He savors the warm fluffyness of the pancakes and while he's sipping on his tea he takes notice of the man three tables to the left of himself.

The man has his nose in a paper but his body was turned towards Harry. Harry admires the black clad body without the owners notice: sleek black shoes, long black jeans that hug his long legs, and a fitting long-sleeve button-up. The man has one hand holding the paper up while the other has long fingers curled around a mug of either tea or coffee. Harry bites his lip at the sight of the long fingers and can't help imagining them running over his body. Harry has to shift his legs to cover his slight arousal.

Harry takes a sip of tea as the man swiftly lays the paper on the table and the sip of tea is forced right back into the cup as Harry's eyes meet that of Severus Snape's.

~*~

A/N:

Let me know what you think. Should I continue? What do you thinks going to happen next? Do you like this portrayal of Harry? Are there any errors in the chapter that I can correct?

This is my first truly serious story; meaning it's not just smut. There is actually a story, plot, and meaning behind this story. Hopefully I'll be able to keep it up, but my boyfriend tends to distract me.


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